


More Than Meets the Eyeballs

by ellie_hell



Series: Anderson's Sexual Magnetism and Prowess [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_hell/pseuds/ellie_hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson has to visit Barts' morgue for work. Molly experiences his incredible sexual magnetism and prowess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Meets the Eyeballs

Anderson hated going to the morgue. Despite having to work with dead bodies on a daily basis, Barts’ dark basement never failed to make him uneasy. Outside, in the real world, death was a natural thing, something he was familiar with. It wasn’t the same thing in a hospital. It didn’t matter whether it was in the morgue or in the very white, very clean rooms on the higher floors. Death in a hospital was something clinical and formal that made him uneasy. If he had to choose, he would pick being stabbed in a dark alley over dying in a crisp hospital bed anytime.

It didn’t help that he was visiting the morgue because of the freak. Anderson was a grown man; he had worked hard to be where he was today. Nowhere in his job description had it stated that he would be running all over town after some important piece of evidence because Mr. Big Head thought himself above everyone and couldn’t admit that other people beside himself could do the job. If he, too, were free to ignore every single procedure and paperwork his position required, he’d get the job done in half the time.

“Bloody freak,” he muttered as he threw his empty styrofoam cup at the bin (and missed).

A young woman carrying a heavy stack of books bent down to pick it up, her long brown hair obscuring her face as she tried to balance the mountain of books on one of her knees. For a split second, it seemed as though she would be successful, but she leaned forward just a hint too far, her knee trembled, and the books toppled over on the floor. Feeling slightly responsible, Anderson bent down beside her and started picking up some of the books. One of the covers startled him; a pile of eyeballs was staring at him. It reminded him of the case he was currently working on. The killer was detaching the victims’ eyeballs and leaving them beside the bodies.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” the woman said as she piled up the books on the floor.

“It’s no trouble,” Anderson replied.

Now that the woman’s hair wasn’t obscuring her face, Anderson could observe how pretty she was. Her eyes were big and shining, and although she was currently frowning, it was obvious that a smile would light up her whole face. Her clothes were a bit plain and she wasn’t the type of woman he usually fancied, but there was something about her that drew him in and made him want to talk to her.

“Why all the books?” he asked conversationally as he handed her the eyeballs book.

“It’s for Sherlock—well, this guy that comes in to the morgue to do research. He asked me to get them, but that was a good ten minutes ago. He’s probably wondering where I am...” she trailed off.

Sherlock. She knew Sherlock. Anderson felt a wave of irritation at the mention of the other man’s name, but at least she might be able to help.

“Sherlock Holmes? I’m here to see him, would you mind taking me to him?” he asked.

When the woman said she didn’t mind, Anderson picked up her book mountain despite her protesting that she could carry them.

“It’s the least I can do. If I hadn’t run into you, I would’ve had to look for him in every single lab. You’re saving me a lot of time. I’m Phillip Anderson, by the way,” he said, holding the books close to his body with his left hand and offering his right one.

“Molly Hooper,” the woman said as she shook his hand. “How do you know Sherlock? Oh, sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It’s alright. I work for Scotland Yard’s homicide division – I’m on forensics. He’s the bane of our collective existence,” he added with a smile.

It made Molly laugh, which filled him with a soft sense of pride. Her laugh was a bit nervous, though. It was the laughter of someone who wasn’t entirely comfortable with strangers.

“He’s alright,” she said, turning bright red. “Sometimes he can be a bit abrasive—“

At that, Anderson let out an involuntary bark of laughter.

“That’s probably the nicest way to call him an arse that I have ever heard!”

“He’s not an arse! Well, he’s not always an arse and he’s very intelligent. He’s probably the most intelligent man I’ve ever met.”

“Yes, he probably is. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to throw eyeballs at his face.”

Molly chuckled, and Anderson realised he had underestimated the effect it would have on her face. Outside, bathed in sunlight, she would probably be stunning. 

“He’s working with eyeballs at the moment; maybe you’ll get the chance to do it.”

“I know. They’re mine,” he said, and Molly’s clear laugh echoed through the corridor.

“That’s not nice, taking your eyeballs without asking,” she said.

She was still chuckling, and Anderson found himself laughing with her. Too soon, they arrived at the lab where Sherlock was staring and poking at the stolen eyeballs. It only took ten minutes of yelling and bargaining for him to relinquish them to Anderson’s good care. Sherlock ended up storming out of the lab muttering to Dr Watson about incompetence. A far better outcome than what Anderson had hoped for. He was in such a good mood that he offered Molly to buy her coffee.

He was attracted to her shyness, her vulnerability. His wife was a strong woman who had always made it perfectly clear that although she wanted a man in her life, she didn’t need one. Sally was the same. Strong, independent, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. This girl, Molly, she looked like the kind of woman you could take care of. It made Anderson wonder what it would be like to take care of someone. To be needed, wanted. He was suddenly very aware of a familiar stirring in his body. The desire to seduce, to conquer. It was a very difficult feeling to ignore. He couldn’t count the times he had fallen prey to that stirring, and the possible consequences were hardly a deterrent until they hit him in the face. He would ask her out to dinner. A dinner couldn’t hurt anyone. If things progressed further...well he couldn’t imagine objecting. She really was lovely.

:::

Later that day, Anderson was on the verge of strutting when he left Barts. He had the missing eyeballs, he would be able to start working on them earlier than he had expected, and he had a date for the following Saturday. Looking back, he could see that Molly was still in the corridor, looking at him. He swung his hips a tad more than necessary, feeling like the embodiment of sexual magnetism. Life was good.


End file.
